


Logorrhea

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Come Shot, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Grinding, Language Kink, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Purple Prose, Romance, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavy and Spy share a language, and in the face of his lover’s linguistic mastery and the poetry that flows from his lips, Spy finds himself completely undone, mere putty in the giant’s hands.</p>
<p>
  <a href="http://jute-moth.tumblr.com/post/131518372788/and-this-is-my-part-of-a-collaboration-made-with">The lovely art contained in this fic was made by the equally lovely Jute-Moth.</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Logorrhea

“There would be nothing but carnage all around us. Blood and fire and the screams of the damned and undying. Mere shadows and timber would conceal us, barely obscured, and it is there we would sully Death's doorstep with our sweat and need.”

Spy's eyes were wide, staring down at his dinner, all of his effort going into hiding the flush that crept past the fabric of his mask to the tops of his cheeks. The fork he held shook in his trembling grasp, and his mouth felt terribly, terribly dry.

Heavy sat beside him, smiling pleasantly, a casual air about the giant as he detailed his latest sexual fantasy to the Frenchman, who was trying with increasing desperation to not let it show just how much his lover's words affected him. He spoke in florid suppositions, decorating what could be simple dirty-talk with an extensive exercise of his expansive vocabulary.

“How would you have me?” Spy asked, almost chewing on the words before they came. He could never be sure which aroused him more: the giant's descriptions, or the flagrant exhibition of his command of his mother tongue.

Heavy was a doctor, a scholar, a master. If there was any man who knew words better than the polyglot rogue, it was the Russian who wielded them so skillfully to destroy him.

“Only as nude as I needed,” came the giant's rumble, his voice low but not quite sultry, their conversation bearing more of a conspiratorial tone. “Sobbing my name against my palm across your mouth. Perhaps my fingers in your mouth, making saliva leak from your pink lips as I reduce you to animal hunger.”

“But how would you take me?” Spy asked, nearly a croak.

“Our bodies would join, burying myself deep inside of you, caressing you in the most intimate way. My touches never soft, my worship of your immaculate form manifesting in absolute _conquest_.”

“Hey, come on!” Scout frowned from across the mess table, a spoon full of peas gesturing to the two men. “It ain't fair to spend all dinner talkin' in Russian! None a' us can understand that shit!”

“What's it matter? Maybe their conversation ain't for you, son.” Engineer nudged the younger man with his elbow and shot him a grin, gently reminding him of his manners.

“Are you afraid they are gossiping about you?” Medic teased. “Ach, ja, did you hear about what Scout did last week? I cannot believe it!”

A snicker spread through the table, save for Spy and Scout; one too distracted, the other too put-out. Heavy finally raised an eyebrow and addressed Scout, not moving from his mother tongue, “If only your mouth could be put to more pleasurable use. I'm sure the masked vision beside me could think of several deviant uses for such a well-exercised tongue.” He turned back to Spy, who was trying not to accidentally inhale his drink. “I've got an image in my mind. Does the combination of three bodies and the name Eiffel Tower bring anything to mind?”

“Okay now he's just doin' it on purpose!” Scout cried in frustration, taking the attention away from a quietly choking and coughing Spy.

“Do not know what you mean,” Heavy lied in English with a grin, which had the younger man practically growling.

“You know exactly what I mean! I wanna know what you were sayin'!”

“Fine,” the giant shrugged with a sniff. “Was telling Spy that tiny man who talks so much must have good mouth for sex. Tongue must be very strong.”

Scout balked at that, scowling and sitting back in his seat. “Man I just wanna be included! You don't gotta be gross,” he pouted. “You don't wanna tell me? Fine! Whatever! Fuck you, you creepy perv! You don't gotta be rude! Who says shit like that?”

The rest of the team chuckled at that. None of them knew he'd been telling the plain truth. None except Spy, who had to contend with that mental image as he finished coughing out the water he'd snorted into his lungs.

“We will continue this alone,” Heavy murmured to Spy, once again speaking Russian. “I think I have tormented you enough for now.”

Spy's shoulders shook with mirth at that. He'd endure plenty of torment later, he was sure.

  


*

  


“The Eiffel Tower. You are absolutely terrible,” Spy admonished with a smirk, tugging his gloves off after shutting the door to his quarters behind him. He immediately found himself pressed against the door frame.

Heavy chuckled, pressing a kiss to his lover's forehead. “I thought it suitably evocative.”

“You nearly killed me.”

“You are alive and well; perfect in every way.” The giant leaned down to nose into the crook of Spy's neck, where his balaclava dove just beneath the line of his collar. With his teeth, he tugged the fabric up and away, exposing the smaller man's pale, soft skin, and pressed his lips reverently there.

Spy hummed, a warm thrill tickling through him at the brush of his lover's stubble. “If I had known what a terror you can be when this all began...”

“You would have fallen for me anyway.”

“Perhaps even faster.”

A broad smile spread against the Frenchman's neck, and was pulled away when Heavy stepped back and took hold of him. He scooped Spy up like his blushing bride, hefting him into broad, strong, muscular arms like he weighed nothing. In the face of the Russian's strength, he may as well have. That thought worked with the adoring look on his lover's face to make Spy's heart flutter and his legs tingle. Butterflies filled his gut, and all of a sudden he was giddy with complete infatuation all over again.

Heavy carried the smaller man over to the bed. It was enormous, a king-sized affair with wooden posts leading up to a canopy, having been, in Spy's words, a very necessary purchase once the two men had decided to spend their entire nights together, rather than a short, sweaty portion of them. Heavy was sure it had been an excuse to make a purchase that Spy had been wanting to make anyway, but considered just slightly too extravagant to justify to himself otherwise. After all, he'd had it picked out and ordered within a day.

Laying Spy down, Heavy set to undressing him. First, his shoes were unlaced and removed, set under the bed and quickly joined by his own hastily kicked-off boots. Next, massive fingers unbuttoned waistcoat and shirt, untucking the latter from pin-striped pants. Spy smiled, luxuriating in the attention and lazily moving to assist Heavy as the garments were shimmied down his shoulders and slipped off of his arms. The giant's nimble fingers always amazed him. After all, they were utterly huge, but there was no clumsiness to their movements. These were hands that wrote poetry and pressed bullets. They tinkered with the delicate workings of Sascha with as much deftness as they unknotted Spy's tie, unbuckled his belt and opened his fly, pulling trousers down long, thin legs and urging Lycra undershorts to do the same. Next, the rogue's socks and garters were removed, leaving him nude save for the navy blue mask that hid the last shreds of his identity.

He fairly trembled, the pale blue of the giant's gaze nearly devouring him as it swept over his naked, prone form in careful study. Those hands, broad and so strong, trailed from the tips of his toes up shin and thigh, sparking his nerves to life as they passed, electric in their reverence. Spy could not deny his arousal, his breath catching as Heavy's touch skirted up his hip before diving toward his belly, circumventing the centre of his need entirely. Still, he swallowed hard, the rises and dips of his abdominal muscles lifting and falling with his quickening breaths, fingertips dancing through the charcoal-brown hair upon his chest.

Heavy kicked his socks free and curled himself up onto the bed beside Spy. He nosed in against the rogue's masked temple, pressing warm kisses to fabric as he felt his lover's body. His hands were broad enough to stretch the width of Spy's torso when splayed. His thumb and pinkie each lay atop a nipple, which he flicked at partially for his own amusement, and partially for the light little gasps it drew from the smaller man.

Covered in layers upon layers of clothing for so much of his time, Spy was sensitive to touch. The slightest sensual caress had him red-faced and arching into the warmth of skin against his own. When Heavy finally reached the edge of his balaclava, he paused, fingering idly at the fabric. Spy swallowed, the mask covering his throat accentuating the bob of his Adam’s apple, and making him terribly aware of the way the motion felt. Heavy simply tickled where hairy chest gave way bald collarbone.

“You never told me what you thought,” the Russian rumbled, his lips brushing the shell of Spy's ear, pressed against his head by tight blue fabric.

“Of what?” came the rogue's breathy reply. He writhed a bit against the sheets, every nerve alive and firing. The blankets upon which he lay felt so soft, so cool even as they heated beneath his body. Heavy's shirt against his shoulder was rough in comparison, cheap cotton pressed close serving as the only barrier between him and the giant's furry chest. Even Heavy's breath felt too hot coming through his balaclava, and it made him dizzy and overheated.

“Of the scenario I detailed for you at dinner,” the giant rejoined. “The one in which I take you in hurried, ecstatic congress in the middle of the battlefield. Where we could be discovered by anyone, and die at any moment, even as carnage erupts all around us. In which I shimmy your trousers down just barely enough to expose your beautiful ass, and make rough love to you while muffling your jubilant cries with my hand over your mouth.”

Spy moaned at the filthy prose being murmured into his ear, lifting his hips in reflex, his cock hard and wanting. “I thought it was your fingers between my lips,” he sighed, “making me drool around the intrusion.”

“I don't think that question was ever resolved,” Heavy chuckled, slipping his fingers under Spy's mask. He caressed the rogue's neck, his skin so soft beneath calloused fingertips. Lifting the fabric, he tugged it to just beneath his lover's jaw. “Though if you want fingers in your mouth, my love, I could never deny you.”

“I want your fingers in me,” Spy murmured, one hand coming to rest atop the Russian's, silently giving permission to let that hand move.

The giant smiled and pulled the balaclava up and off of his lover, exposing the sharp, narrow-featured face and thin, dark hair he adored. “I could never deny you.”

Spy raked fingers through his hair to bring some body back to it after letting it lay flat inside the mask all day, watching the Russian fling the garment aside like some offending thing. He smiled, and was tugged onto his side by a strong arm, pressed to Heavy's body in a warm, all-encompassing embrace. Stubble-rimmed lips pressed to his temple, his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, meeting with open mouths and sweetness, their tongues touching in a playful joust. Moans passed between them as their bodies cleaved together, hips rolling as arms needily clutched at shoulder, back, hip, and bottom in turn. Heavy cupped Spy's backside, pressing their hips together, grinding his trousers and the erection pressing behind against his lover's sensitive flesh. It broke their kiss, forcing Spy to press his forehead to the giant's cheek and catch his breath, groaning against his jaw.

“You are so beautiful like this,” Heavy cooed, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smelled strongly of him, kept captive inside of his balaclava all day, tinged with the shampoo he bought specially to contend with the torture it endured. It was a scent partly of sweat, partly of gentle musk, partly of ephemeral warmth, and partly of vanilla, and it flattered the fastidious Frenchman. Certainly it was an aroma that brought his Russian lover comfort, a smell that made him think of long nights wrapped around the slim rogue, of sleepy chatter after passionate lovemaking, of the peace that came with trust and adoration in equal measure. “Even I do not have words that can capture your beauty.” He sighed and inhaled again, smiling against Spy's scalp as he continued to rut against the smaller man.

Spy had no words for Heavy, either. The man spoke more languages than most of the team combined, with command of such a variety of words in such a variety of tongues that would make a normal man dizzy at the sheer scale and scope. Perhaps if he had mastered them all with the same acuity with which Heavy had lovingly explored his own, he _might_ approach being able to properly articulate the genius giant's utter perfection in mind and body. All he could muster was a near-sob of a whine, and a flurry of kisses along his wide, stubbly jaw.

Heavy smiled at the lovely noise, the sweet attention. He loved being able to steal Spy's words from him. A man of double-talk and obfuscation, he wielded language as a weapon, each syllable honed to an edge. He could take as many lives with the right phrases sent in the right directions as he could by sinking his balisong between the ribs of an enemy combatant. But here in their bed, here in his arms, overwhelmed with desire and pleasure, he'd been disarmed; his greatest weapon taken from him by the sweet words and warm touch of his lover. Heavy slipped an arm beneath Spy and held him close to his chest, the hand cupping his bottom spreading cheeks. A finger pressed to the hot, puckered flesh between them and he felt the man in his arms go tense, sucking in a breath. When the finger began to trace slow, easy circles, it coaxed the rest of him to relax, clutching to his chest with quiet, whimpering sighs.

“There is something entrancing about you like this,” Heavy murmured, rubbing at Spy as their bodies lazily undulated together. “Your barbed tongue and clever words whittled away and your voice loosed in only pleasure. There is no meaning, no motive, just you. Feeling utterly amazing.”

It was too true. Too accurate, and Spy couldn't argue. He simply hitched out a guttural groan, one of renewed lust, and arched between his lover's trouser-clad cock and the teasing finger at his entrance. He wrapped his arms around the giant's shoulders, tugging him close, and buried his face in the side of his neck. His breath was humid against Heavy's skin, making gooseflesh rise.

“You want me?” Heavy asked, knowing full well the answer. He was sure he would have a small wet stain on his trousers when he pulled away, Spy's body bucking out his need. Delicate hands clutched at the fabric of his t-shirt, one long leg wrapped around his thigh for purchase. The Frenchman's face was flushed pink, making the cornflower blue of his eyes stand out in watery brightness.

“Yes,” Spy gasped, biting at the collar of his lover's shirt and tugging it down, nosing in at the chest hair he exposed.

The giant tilted Spy up and claimed his lips in a kiss, stubble scratching as their faces crushed together with vigorous excitement. He tasted the smaller man, groaning into Spy's mouth as the rogue did the same to him, and when they parted, Heavy issued an order: “Lay on your belly, get up on your knees.”

Spy obeyed, being released from his lover's grasp to assume the position. He shoved pillows to one side and stretched out near the middle of the bed, his chest and cheek pressed to rumpled sheets, his lower half pitched up onto his knees with his ass in the air. His cock and balls hung heavy between his thighs, hot and needful. His arms rested in front of him, loosely gripping the bedclothes. He silently awaited his lover's next move, the sound of his own rough breathing filling his ears amid the shuffling of his lover out of sight.

When at last Heavy returned to him, bare flesh met his own, the bear of a man settling beside the smaller man to lay on his hip against Spy's side. Soft hair ran the length of Heavy's torso, spread out over chest and belly and tickling at his lover's sensitive skin, and turning his head to see the Russian smiling down at him, Spy was struck with the sudden desire to capture the fluffy hair that stood up from the giant's collarbone and shoulders between his lips amid snuffling kisses pressed to his thick neck. He leaned into Heavy, but otherwise held his position, even as the giant's hard cock pressed against his thigh.

And something cold pressed against his hole.

Spy hissed in a breath, looking up at Heavy beside him. The giant smiled and watched what he was doing, his palm coming to rest on the crest of Spy's ass as his large middle finger, slick with lube, began to rub at the smaller man's entrance. He cast his lover a raised eyebrow before returning to his work, leaving the Frenchman to chuckle a little before settling into the sensation and sighing pleasantly.

Spreading lube around Spy's hole, their bodies' combined heat quickly warmed the slippery liquid, and once he'd stopped twitching at the sensation, Heavy was fairly certain his lover was ready. He pushed the tip of his finger inside, moving with careful laziness.

Spy arched into the touch, urging Heavy inward, deeper. He needed more, groaning into the mattress.

“You love the feeling of me inside of you, my handsome fox? Stretching you open around these strong fingers? Taking you apart, knuckle by knuckle?” Heavy pressed a kiss to Spy's shoulder and continued his press inward, finally stopping once his finger could reach no deeper. He relished the muffled sounds of lust, the twitching muscle squeezing his digit, the flex of the Frenchman's back as he fought back shivers. Spy's body spoke plainly when the man's voice so rarely did, and it was a beautiful language so simple to decipher. “I think I will see how far I can stretch you. I want to see how much you can accept into that trembling body, how much of me you can take. I want to fill you and make you weep with wanton lust and need and beg me for more, always more, ever more.” He hooked his finger and tugged upward, stretching Spy open. “I have never considered myself one for such dramatic gestures, and I have no dowry to pay, but I would like to give you my hand.”

Spy groaned not in pleasure but disgust. The delicious sensation of his body being opened overridden by his lover's terrible, terrible joke. “Another joke like that and I'll be glad to give you the back of mine,” he spat, looking up at Heavy with as much indignation as he could muster. It broke quickly as the giant slipped a second finger inside of him, making him bury his face back in the blanket as he curled in on himself, temporarily overwhelmed.

“I hear the jokes you make in English. You have no room to talk,” Heavy teased with a chuckle. Carefully working the second finger in, he scissored them, forcing the rogue's hole open, spreading him wide and making him whine at the pleasant burn.

“I have plenty of roo—” Spy was cut off as Heavy's free hand brushed across his jaw and he found a thick finger pressed between his lips. The calloused pad pressed against his tongue, silencing him with a moan, and he arched between the hands at each of his ends, begging for more. He slurped at his saliva, wrapping his lips around the giant's finger, and pet at the intruding digit with his tongue, his eyes falling closed.

  


Spy shuddered, the fingers in his ass stretching him, pulling at his muscle and forcing it to relax, to give way and allow Heavy entrance, the prickling burn of being opened sending throbs of heat through his abdomen. His thighs twitched, feeling the heat of his cock hanging between them, stiff and beginning to leak.

Pressing his lips to Spy's shoulder, Heavy smiled against his warm skin, one hand on each side of the man. The tongue lapping away at one index finger sent ripples of need straight to his groin, memories of that skilled tongue and its applications on other parts of the giant's currently-neglected anatomy surging to the surface of his mind. He was tempted to lay Spy down on his back, hooking his fingers into the smaller man's prostate and jerking against them ruthlessly as he cradled his head with his other massive hand, feeding his cock into the rogue's wanting mouth and making him gag. But that wasn't the plan tonight. He'd already told Spy what he wanted to do to him, and as he pushed a third finger into the trembling Frenchman, he worked toward that goal, opening his hole further and further.

Pink flesh stretched wide, reddening with blood flow and effort, shiny with lubricant. Spy's voice grew harsher, more strained around Heavy's finger as he groaned his pleasure. He fellated the giant's digit with renewed vigor, showing his appreciation, his desire, and when Heavy finally hooked down and pressed into the wall inside of him, cried out in muffled rapture, hips bucking out of his control. His mouth fell open, that thick finger holding his tongue down as he wetly gasped for air, humping nothing as Heavy abused that spot with rough, harsh taps. When the giant relented, Spy sagged, quivering, feeling smears of precome on his thighs from his frenzied rutting.

“To see you like this is the ultimate delight,” Heavy rumbled, chuckling darkly as the Frenchman tried to regain himself. “Already near-undone at the mere touch of my hands. Flushed and wanting and overwhelmed with  _lust_. Do you crave more, my fox?”

Spy nodded as best he could, shuddering in aftershocks.

“Good,” the Russian fairly growled, removing his finger from Spy's mouth. With careful movements, he climbed to his knees, sitting on his heels at the rogue's hip, and inspected his stretched hole with hungry eyes. He wanted to slide his fingers free and take the man, burying himself to the hilt in the hot, welcoming body of his lover and fuck him ruthlessly, filling him over and over with his seed, not stopping until he was too exhausted to continue.  He wanted to lay on his back and pull Spy atop him and move his hips for him with strong hands. Instead, he snatched up the lubricant and reapplied it, turning his palm up with his digits still inside the smaller man and pumping out a generous glob of the slippery fluid into it. He curled his last finger and his thumb into his palm, spreading the lube, and turned his hand to slick the top with still more pumps from the bottle. When he was satisfied that his hand was as slick as he could get it, he dropped the bottle and braced his free hand on Spy's lower back. Steepling the fingers of his hand together and tucking his thumb beneath them, he began to push the last two digits into the smaller man's hole.

Spy howled, panting, willing himself to relax in the face of the pressure and discomfort that came with being stretched to his limits. Heavy's hands were massive, much like the rest of the man, and as the knuckles of his hand breached the muscle that fought him so stubbornly, it wrenched a cry from the Frenchman, who dropped his face to the sheets in an attempt to muffle his nonsense babbling. It hurt in the way overextending any muscle did, burning and aching, but it felt amazing, sending sparks to dance in his mind and heat in harsh bolts straight to his groin.  The pressure was  staggering ,  but when the widest point of the giant's hand had passed into him, the wet sounds of lubricant easing the way being the only noise in the room other than his desperate mewling, the strain relented somewhat. He was inside, Spy's twitching hole clamped down around his wrist.

He murmured something between gulps of air, slurping the drool that Heavy was sure was seeping between grit teeth. It might have been French. It might have been nonsense. It was likely a combination of both; half-finished words in Spy's mother tongue, completely unable to articulate even the simplest thing. It was a beautiful sound to Heavy's ear, the final undoing of the always cool and collected rogue. He flexed his hand and leaned into his lover's prostate with the side of his thumb. “How does it feel, my fox? Do be so completely, utterly full?”

Spy whimpered and arched up, his hands fisted in the sheets tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Slurping again, he tried to begin an answer, failing as he trailed off into a whine. It was as much of an answer as Heavy needed, and he slowly began to move.

Shallow strokes inside the Frenchman dragged his body back and forth with the push and pull of the giant's fist, drawing noises of increasing  distress from his trembling form. Every muscle in his back quivered and flexed as he faced down the blissful fullness, the comfortable stretch, the overwhelming pressure inside of him. Each pass dragged a knuckle against his prostate, a throb of need like lightning lancing down the line of his body t o his cock, pointing to the bed and angr ily puniceous in its rigidity.

Heavy stood upon his knees, his free hand leaving Spy to take hold of his own aching length. The relief of contact alone left him sighing, and as he began to stroke, his voice rumbled out in low, hunger-thick tones. “You are a work of art, my love. The greatest sculpture ever crafted. You inspire me.” He grunted, hand speeding quickly, the heat and want pooling in his gut building with each stroke of his broad hand down his equally overlarge erection. His balls pulled close against his body, nearing the edge with terrible speed. “Allow me to collaborate, and paint you.”

Spy moaned without shame, nearly bawling. Releasing the blanket with one hand, his thin arm shot beneath himself, reaching back to take hold of his own cock. It was hot in his hand, and he fancied he could feel his pulse, as engorged as it was. He began to tug at himself with the same furor as his love, feeling dizzy with the overwhelming combination of sensations.

Hitching a breath, Heavy released himself to pet at his lover's bowed back before returning to his strokes. Spy was so beautiful, so terribly wanton, with the Russian's entire hand taken into his body and clutched at eagerly by the flexing muscles holding him there. He turned to look up at Heavy, his eyes glassy, his lips glossy with drool that leaked over them and onto the blanket, his mouth open and heaving gasping breaths as he rushed headlong toward his climax.

Orgasm hit Heavy like a shot, sudden and vicious. He growled, holding in the roar that wanted to escape him and tugged himself to completion. He bucked into his hand, the first spurt so powerful it made him see spots as it splattered onto Spy's arched backside, landing in a sloppy white line along the crest of his ass. The second left a small puddle to run down his back from the apex of one cheek, and the third dripped down his hip the moment it landed, each shot making his target gasp and grow a little less elegant in his own masturbation, his hand jerking with shaky need. Spent, Heavy pressed the head of his cock against his lover's hip, leaking the last of his load. He moaned, tracing the line of his hipbone and leaving a sticky trail in his wake,.

Spy rocked back against Heavy's fist, which had stalled when he had come, fucking himself on the Russian's hand with increasing vigor. He needed it, needed him, needed to come. Groaning and drooling, he bucked against the fist in his ass.  A broad hand cupped his cheek and a thumb popped into his open mouth, prompting him to suckle at it without question. He could taste Heavy's skin, his sweat, his musk from touching himself, and overtop it all, he could taste his seed, slathered over the digit for him to savor. It was the final kick Spy needed, and rocking back to take Heavy as deep as he could, he shuddered and jerked, muscles clenching around the giant in rhythmic bursts. He sobbed and yowled around the thumb in his mouth, his hand a blur as he milked the seed from his heated flesh,  sullying the bedclothes amid paroxysms of rapturous relief.

Heavy licked his lips, wedging his thumb between Spy's teeth to hold his mouth agape, his cries coming loud and whorish from the Frenchman's mouth. It was like music to the giant, and his lover's body was his favourite instrument.  When at last his whines had died out, his hips gone still and his body left to quiver in the giant's grasp, Heavy withdrew his thumb from the rogue's mouth and set to carefully working his hand out of him. It drew whimpers from the overstimulated Spy, but when he was free of the intrusion, he sagged in  exhaustion .

Heavy noted with no small satisfaction how his lover gaped in his wake, and again was struck with the desire to take him, though neither was in any shape for such an endeavour.  He helped Spy stretch his legs out, laying him flat in the wet spot he had left on the bed, and stood, leaving him in their mess to go wash his hands  in the room's adjacent water closet .

Spy panted, the passage of time immaterial to him as he lounged in the soup of pleasant chemistry that had flooded his head. He was sore, moist in several places, and somewhat sweaty. His hair, absolutely a mess by this point, was sticking to his temples and forehead, and he could feel the giant's seed cooling on his ass. When at last his lover returned, Spy was dimly aware, still puffing his breaths with a steady, harsh rhythm that served as the only concrete thing he could cling to.

“You are completely ruined,” Heavy chuckled, still flexing his freshly-washed hand to chase away the aches from holding a single position under pressure for so long.

The rogue's response was a wordless mumble.

“Will I need to restore this soiled work of art?” the giant teased, scooping the limp man into his arms and holding him close. “Perhaps take you to the showers so I can clean you up for display?”

Spy chuckled at that, flopped over Heavy's arms ignobly. He pet weakly at his lover's shoulder, smiling up at him. “I love you,” he murmured softly, resting his head against the giant's upper arm.

Heavy pressed a kiss to the top of Spy's head and replied in turn with a soft, “I love you.” He was glad that for all of the words his lover could not muster, addled as he was, that those three remained, and always would.


End file.
